Newsie Edition
by SpotandRaceAreOurLoveSlaves
Summary: What if a newsie is given a chance to change history--before it happens? Rated for language and mild violence, will hopefuly go up later. This will eventually be SLASH!!!!
1. You know how cool it would be if this wa...

Hi! This chapter will be done by: Draco's Secret Lover (shameless plug~ Go read my stuff!!!) Neither I, nor Butterfly own Newsies, or Early Edition. We did, however, kidnap Race, Spot, and Draco to be our love slaves, but that really shouldn't concern you...  
  
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It was a very bad day at the tracks for Racetrack Higgins, who was staggering home half drunk at around three in the morning. He damn near broke his neck tripping over a large nothing in the sidewalk, and then proceeded to lie there, looking at the cobblestone street, until two pairs of feet came into view. One was outfitted with pink, knee-high bitch boots, the king that he had seen Medda wear before. The other set was wearing. Black leather combat boots. As he looked on, one toe of the pink bitch boots began tapping, impatiently. "Damn it, Mary, does he really have to be the one?"  
  
"Shut it, Sue. Race? Race honey!" The person belonging to the combat boots now came into view. She looked at him with her mesmerizing green eyes, and then grabbed him gently by his shoulders. Suddenly, he was no longer lying down. He was sitting. The girl in the combats dusted off her hands. "There now, isn't that a better view?" She giggled a bit, like it was something she didn't do often.   
  
The one in the pink bitch boots was still tapping her toes. "I still don't see why we couldn't have gone to Spot. I like him *much* better." She accentuated much. "Well, at least let me sober him up a bit."  
  
"Oh, all right. Just don't hurt this one. I like him." Combat-boot girl smiled the kind of smile that they wrote poems about. Bitch-boot girl rolled her eyes and went into a nearby alley. With a brilliant flash of light, she returned, holding a bucket of water, and a strange, gun-shaped object. She handed the gun-shaped object to Combat-boot girl, and threw the water at him. It was freezing, and that broke him out of his drunken-stupor.  
  
"Gawd-dammit goil! What da hell was dat foah?!?!" He took his hat off and wrung it out. Combat-boot girl came forward again and aimed the gin-thing at him. She pulled the trigger, and Race flinched. But instead of being hit by a bullet, he was hit by a blast of hot air. The girl dried him off with the hot-air, and then stepped back.  
  
The girls now linked arms and they both smiled that wonderful kind of smile that makes males of all ages turn to puddles of goo. Combat-Boot girl spoke first. "We have a present for you..."  
  
"-More like a mission, really. We need you..."  
  
"-To help those in need of help. We give you this..."  
  
"-To use to your best advantage." Bitch-boot girl finally finished. She pulled something out from somewhere and threw it at Race.   
  
"A pape? What da hell do ya gimme a pape foah? I'm a newsie, fer Christ' sake!"  
  
"Look at it, moron!" Bitch-boot girl flipped her long hair, obviously annoyed.  
  
"I can't see it. It's dark. Besides. I know what it says. I sold fifty of em taday."  
  
Combat-Boot girl pulled a large lantern from behind a convienently placed garbage can and turned it on. Race could now clearly see the girls. They were the most beautiful creatures he had ever seen. To beautiful to be real. The one with the pink Bitch-Boots had perfect, waist length, straight, honey blonde hair, and big blue eyes. She was tall, with a perfect body, which was accented by her tight pink dress. Tighter and more revealing then even Medda wore. The girl with the combat boots also had a perfect figure, but she looked much different. She had waist length penny-colored hair that fell into perfect spiral curls. Her wide green eyes were accented by light freckles, right across her nose. She was wearing a black leather skirt and a sleeveless blue shirt. Her tight clothes also left nothing to the imagination.  
  
"Now. Read the pape." Combat girl said softly. Race did as told. He scanned the front page, looking for the familiar "Push Cart Caught Fire!" but instead saw "Children Trampled By Out Of Control Carriage!". His eyes flicked to the date, and he saw that it said September 18, 1900. That was tomorrow. What kind of trick was this?  
  
"What the hell is you'se two tryin ta pull? This is dated tamarrow."  
  
"Finally! These people need your help. You must read the paper, and stop all the horrible things from happening. DO you understand?" Bitch-Boot girl said, slowly, like he was a toddler.  
  
"No. Dis is stupid. You two's is crazy. I'm goin' home." Race stood up. Combat-boot girl stopped him.  
  
"I can't let you do that. Not yet. Promise me that you'll at least go to First and Broadway tomorrow. At least look and see if it's for real." She leaned towards him and put one hand on his shoulder. "Promise me."  
  
"Yeah. Okay. I'll go deah. But aftah dat, you'se gotta leave me alone."  
  
"All right. Go on then. And don't loose track of that paper for anything!" Combat-Boot girl gave in. They watched him walk off, carrying the pape with him.  
  
"Come one, Mary. These bitch-boots are killing me."  
  
"I told you to pick something else."  
  
"Yeah, well...Maybe next time I'll listen." They both went onto the alley, and with another bright flash, were gone.  
  
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Race stumbled into bed and dropped the newspaper onto the sheet, next to him. Kicking off his shoes, he fell into a deep sleep. For a few hours anyways. Kloppman came in at his usual time, and got all of the boys up. Race rolled out of bed, and then in the general direction of the washroom. He was coming back through the room, on his way downstairs, when he remembered the newspaper.  
  
He went back to get it, and looked at the date again. September 18. Still tomorrow. He didn't know where these two girls came from. Hell, he didn't even know their names, but he had made a promise that he would go to First and Broadway, and, then he could put all of this crap behind him.   
  
He knew that he couldn't sell papes on his way, since he was going out of Jack and Spot's territories, so he just took the one pape with him. He'd catch the evening edition. He snuck away quietly, while Jack was making fools of the Dellancey brothers, so no one would ask questions. He didn't particularly want to tell his friends that two insanely beautiful girls had given him the next day's pape while he was half drunk. He didn't even believe it, and he had been there.  
  
It took him nearly an hour to walk to the correct intersection, and he was incredibly tired. He sat down on a crate next to a building, and rested. He looked at the paper in his hand. 'Might as well see what other headlines are in here. See what sort of imagination these girls have.' He thought to himself. He unfolded the pape.  
  
It was all rather normal. The only thing that caught his attention at all was the article about the children being run over. The article said that three children, on their way home from the markets, had been crossing the street when an out-of-control carriage came speeding around the corner. Witnesses said that the children probably never even saw the carriage. The driver of the carriage had been thrown out earlier, right after the horses had first begun to freak out. No one knew why. It had happened at almost noon.  
  
Race looked at his watch. It was a little after eleven thirty. He figured that he would wait around until quarter after, and then he would leave to go catch the evening edition. He leaned back, and closed his eyes. He listened to the people going by, catching snatches of their conversations.  
  
"-so I told them that they simply *must* see it my way..."  
  
"Good servants are so hard to find these days. I had to fire another one this morning..."  
  
"Mother told us to get the vegetables back by noon and we're late..." This last one stuck with Race, and he opened his eyes and looked up. There was a girl, looking to be about ten, and two boys, twins, about seven or eight. Each one was carrying a brown paper bag, and the girl also had a cloth bundle of some sort in the other hand. She kept turning to look at the boys, making sure they were following. Three children. He looked at his watch. About five till noon.  
  
Race felt uneasy. It was adding up all to well. He stood up and moved towards them. One of the boys stumbled, and something fell out of his bag. Acting on an impulse, Race rushed to pick it up. He called to them, and the girl stopped, just on the street. The boys skipped on ahead. "Hey, you'se, ah...you'se dropped dis."  
  
"Oh, thank ye. Micheal! Joseph! Get back heah!" The twins turned around, and made their way back over, as only small children can when you're trying to do something important and they don't know. Suddenly, there was a great clattering and creaking and an elaborate carriage roared around the corner. There was no driver, and the horses were running wild. Race could faintly see someone inside, screaming for help.   
  
He felt as if he was in a dream. Everything kind of...melted away except for the boys and the wagon. The girl was still looking at them. She didn't even see the wagon. The boys were continuing on slowly...more slowly than Race thought possible. Everything was in slow motion. The twins stepped onto the side walk at the same time, and then out of the street completely. And just then, the wagon roared by and everything went back to its true speed.   
  
Race let out a breath he didn't even know he was holding. The girl dropped her bags and grabbed the boys into a tight, motherly hug. Race gently set the loaf of bread, that one of the boys had dropped earlier, into the top of her bag that was now lying on the ground. He slipped away, before she could turn around.  
  
Once he was a few blocks away, he opened the paper again. The earlier headline was replaced with "Wife of Hearst Terrified After Carriage Runs Rampant". Race smiled to himself, and leaned against the wall. Through his closed eyelids, he could see a bright flash of light. He opened them in a hurry, fearing the bulls or who knows what.   
  
The same two girls from before were standing there again. They were dressed differently now. The redhead was still wearing black, but now it was a dress. She had black shoes, with platforms. They had flames printed on the sides. Race had never seen shoes like those before. The blonde was now wearing tight khaki-colored pants. They weren't shorts, but they only went to just below her knees. She was wearing a purple shirt. She had on white shoes, with thick soles, but not as thick as the other ones.  
  
"So you have fixed the first headline! Congratulations!" The redhead gushed, smiling widely at him.  
  
"You believe us now?" The blonde countered, smiling not-so-widely at him.  
  
Race scowled, and nodded. "Yeah, but...Who are you'se goils?"  
  
"I'm Sue, and she's Mary." The blonde said.   
  
At the same time, the red-head started "Gawd, I just *love* your accent!"  
  
"Uh, yeah. I'se had it always. Look, is this papah thing gonna happen everyday? Cause I didn't get no sales done taday, an I'm gonna be flat broke befoah too long."  
  
"See. I told you he was honest!" Mary whispered to Sue.  
  
"No, he's just stupid. He probably hasn't even thought of it." The blonde obviously didn't think very highly of his abilities as a world savior. Race wondered what they were talking about.  
  
"Umm...goils? Sorry ta interrupt, but I'se gotta go." Race figited. These two were making him *very* uncomfortable.  
  
"oh. Yeah. I forgot, you still have to walk back, don't you." The red-head reached out and took the paper from him. "See ya round, kid!"  
  
They both backed up towards the wall and with a bright flash, were gone. A small slip of paper was left, fluttering to the ground. Race picked it up, and he saw that it was a column of the paper. One side was only half of an article, so he couldn't' see why they'd leave that. He flipped it over, and saw "Track Results" printed at the top, with a list of winners, and the time of day they had won. At the bottom, there was a hand written note that said: Just for living money. See you tomorrow! ~Mary  
  
  
Race smiled, slipped it into his pocket, and headed towards Sheepshead. Maybe he wouldn't catch the evening edition after all.  
  
  
  
  
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	2. I could know everything a day early!

Note From Author: Hello, all! Butterfly here and now it's my turn! Muh-ha ha.Once again, we do not own the Newsies---damn Disney does so enjoy and review!!!  
  
  
  
CHAPTER TWO  
  
That night, Racetrack Higgins's head was clouded with wonderful dreams. These dreams could have brought on per chance by the fact that those two extremely odd girls had given him the winning horses at Sheepsheds for the previous day.  
  
When he had gotten to the races, he still had been apprehensive about the whole thing. Papers that could see into the future? Codswallop, he had thought. Yet, he still had bet the last coins he had on the horse that was supposed to win, a horse named Trigger that had the worst odds possible. The man had laughed at him as he gave Race his ticket, and Race had sat in the stands, a sick feeling in his stomach. He could have been out selling his papes and making money, and yet here he was, having bet the rest of the money he had to his name, on the worst horse possible.  
  
He had been in such a sad state, that he hadn't even heard the race start. He had been at his wits end, ready to leave, when he let his eyes flicker to the track. Trigger, his horse, had been in the lead. He had watched with bated breath as Trigger had rounded the track and as the horse won. He had jumped up and down like a mad man, catching some stares from others, as he then collected his winnings from the now-surly man who had laughed at him before. He had been in such an impossible state of euphoria, that that evening he had bought a round for everyone at Tibby's.  
  
And now here he was, twisted in the blankets as he slept on the bunk under Snipeshooter, a smile plastered on his face and his right foot periodically twitching. Yet, the dreams could not last forever, and they ended, as he was roughly shaken awake.  
  
He opened his eyes suddenly, seeing the dark outlines of the bunks in double vision. "Huh, wha'?" he murmured as he sat up suddenly in the bunk, banging his head against the top bunk.  
  
"Damn it!" he cried, his hand going to his pate. He let out a muffled cry as he felt a hand press itself against his mouth.  
  
"Shut it, will you?" a voice accompanied by a blast of hot breath hissed in his ear.  
  
Race felt his body go lax as his eyes adjusted to the dark. The sounds of muffled sobs invaded his ears. He shifted his eyes so that he could see who the intruded was.  
  
"Ew!" he shouted in a muffled voice. The girl that made up half the party of the future-telling newspaper stint was standing over him, her left knee settled on his bunk, her right foot planted on the ground, and her hand pressed tightley over his mouth.  
  
The moonlight causing her penny-colored hair to glint, she stared down at him. "If I let my hand go, you have to promise not to yell."  
  
Racetrack quickly nodded.  
  
"Alright," she breathed, removing her hand. "Do not--"  
  
"AHHHHHHH!"  
  
The girl was interrupted by Race letting out a tremendous bellow. The girl let out a hiss as some of the newsies stirred.  
  
"Goddamn you!" she spat, smacking her hand once again into place over his mouth, reducing the yells. "Come on!"  
  
With one hand over his mouth and the other around his torso, she gave a mighty tug and drug Race across the floor and to the window with surprising strength.  
  
She shimmied out the window, and then turned back to Race, who looked up at her as he sat under the window in a heap. "Come on," she growled, grasping him under the arms and pulling him out the window.  
  
Racetrack let out a yelp as the girl suddenly let go of him when he was halfway out the window, causing him to land on the fire escape with a thud. Letting out a groan, he let his eyes roll up in his head, and seeing the impatient tapping of her dark leather boot.  
  
"Come on," she said coldly, giving him a nudge in the head with her boot. "And while your at it, wake the whole damn town, why don't you?"  
  
The platform vibrated under Race's head as her heavy boots stomped up the stairs to the roof.  
  
With a moan, Racetrack rose wobbly to his feet, dazed by the blow to the head and the fact of being woken up in the middle of the night. Muttering and rubbing his pate, he walked the steps of the fire escape to the rooftop with a grudge. His mutterings deceased, however, when he heard hysterical sobs.  
  
His hand dropped to his side as he stopped at the last steps, his eyes growing wide at what he saw. His abductor was standing over who was obviously the girl that had adorned the bitch boots previously. The former was crouched, an arm around the latter who was sobbing uncontrollably, her head buried in her hands, shoulders shaking, and bright hair hiding her face from view.  
  
"How cuh.cuh.could th...this h..h...happen?" the blonde sobbed.  
  
"It doesn't have to, Sue, it doesn't have to," the copper haired girl replied. She then fixated her gaze on Race, her eyes narrowed, and slowly rose to her feet.  
  
Race took a few uneasy steps forward. "Wh...what's wrong with her?" he asked. The girl snatched a paper from Sue's grasp and her boots echoed across the roof as she closed the gap between she and Racetrack. "Here," she said, shoving the pape in front of his face.  
  
Race lowered his eyes from her burning green ones as he slowly took the pape. As his eyes scanned the headline, he felt like his stomach had dropped to the floor. "Oh, God, oh no!" he whispered, as his eyes reread the headline, trying to make what he beheld not true.  
  
His arm fell limply to his side and his grip relaxed, causing the newspaper to flutter to the ground. The moonlight illuminated it, the black ink of the headline even louder: NEWSBOY RIOT ENDS IN SEVERAL CIVILIAN DEATHS. Above the screaming letters was a black and white photo of a juncture of streets in Brooklyn. Policeman like statues, scattered about the bodies of the dead that littered the street. Although the majority of the cadavers were that of newsies, several pedestrians lay dead, supposedly caught in the crossfire. The body of the Midtown leader, Oliver Haddox, lay sprawled on his back, a knife jutting from his back. But the sight that had sickened Racetrack most had been the body that was in the foreground. The distinguishable profile of Spot Conlon could be made discernable, his body in an impossible position, his garments and adjacent ground covered in a dark color-and a knife protruding from his heart.  
  
"No, no, no," Race whispered, "it can't be. It just can't be. We knew dat Brooklyn and Midtown hated each odduh, but ta have a feud in da middle of a street."  
  
He raised his disbelieving brown eyes to be met by the girl's somber green ones.  
  
He furiously shook his head. "No, no."  
  
"Yes, yes," she said softly.  
  
He took a step back, shaking his head. "No, no! Spot can't die, he jist can't.Why is she cryin'?"  
  
The girl looked over her shoulder at Sue, still gushing her eyes out. She turned to Racetrack to answer, when Sue interrupted her. She unsteadily stood to her feet and strode over to the pair, standing somewhat in front of the girl with the copper curls.  
  
She turned her tear-streaked face to Race and looked at him with watery, vivid azure eyes. "You can't let him die! You can't let him die! He's.he's just too.too-HOT!" With that, she buried her head into the girl's shoulder, her sobs reaching a pitch.  
  
The girl let out a sigh and turned back to Race, who was disbelieving.  
  
"No.Spot can't die.he can't."  
  
"He won't, Racetrack. You can save him."  
  
Race stopped his stutters to lock eyes with the girl. "Who ARE you?" he cried. She let out a soft laugh. "I'm Mary and this is Sue. And, since Brooklyn meets Midtown at six fifteen, I'd say you got a hell of a job to do!"  
  
Race took an uneasy step backwards. "How do I know dat all dis bullshit is true?"  
  
A grim smile formed on Mary's lips. "Well, you could go back to bed, wake- up, go to the distribution center and see there if the headline was right of not. Or, you can get your ass to Brooklyn and save your friend."  
  
His mouth fell, as if to say something, yet nothing came out.  
  
Mary raised an eyebrow, stuck her index finger in her mouth and held it up in the air. "Well, Racetrack, if I'm not mistaken it'll be a wonderful day for a newsie massacre."  
  
With this, Sue sobbed even harder.  
  
"Are you sure this is true?" he asked.  
  
Mary elicited a snort. "Was it true that you saved those three children? Was it true that you placed your bets on the worst damn horse and won?"  
  
Race remained speechless and frozen  
  
"Well, Race," she said. "I'd hurry if I were you. Midtown boys are probably on their way right now to pay your little friend and his newsies in Brooklyn a nice greeting."  
  
He took a step backwards and then stooped down and snatched up the paper. His eyes fell to the picture and he felt revulsion course through his body once more.  
  
His eyes connected with Mary's once more. "Go," she mouthed.  
  
With that, Racetrack was flying down the fire escape, with Sue's sobs filling his ears, "Oh, save him, Racetrack! He's too hot to die!"  
  
*** A horrible stitch in his side and breathing heavily, Racetrack reached the familiar structure of the Brooklyn Newsboys Lodging House just as the sun was awakening. Panting and his hands grasping his side, he struggled up the steps and stopped in front of the door. Placing one hand on his upper leg, he banged on the door with the other.  
  
"Spot, Spot!" he shouted, banging wildly again.  
  
He straightened, and his eyes fell to the windows on either side. It was completely dark inside.  
  
"Oh, please, God, no," he murmured, kicking open the door.  
  
Murmuring the same chant under his breath, he took the stairs two at a time and flew down the hall to where the bunkroom was stationed. He flicked open the door and felt nausea sweep over him.  
  
"Oh, no."  
  
The bunkroom was dark and deserted, save the shots of light that streamed in the window due to the ever rising sun. 


	3. You have any idea how spiffy that would ...

Allright! A new chapter of Newsie Edition!!! Okay, first off, I'd like to apologize for keeping this to myself for so darn long. I went on vacation a few weeks ago, and I wrote this whileon the plane. So if there is something that is worded funny, or suddenly changes tenses or something, that is totally the fault of ...the airlines. = I had to change flights 3 times, and two of my flights were only twenty minutes. And so I was rushing, trying to finish the line of thought, and then Boom! They said I had to shut down all electronic items. So then I'd have to sit in the terminal and type. Which them, I was on a different thought line, that probably didn't match up with the other one. I went back and re-read it, and I fixed a few things, but I know there will be some things still wrong, and I have no beta reader, so....deal with it. To our loverly reviewer--Yay! We love you bunches!And also...this is not ours! We know that, and are not trying to make any money or lay any claims. LOL...=...  
  
@#!#$&%^*^)  
  
Race stood on the Manhattan side of the Brooklyn Bridge and swallowed nervously. Holding the paper, he hung his head. He had tried to get osme of the other Manhattan newsies to go with him, but they all said no. Not that they *wanted* Spot to die, but Race wasn't allowed to tell them that anyways.Mary and Sue said it was strictly forbidden. Race was on his own...or so he thought.  
  
Unbeknownst to him, both of the girls were trailing him, and had been all night. Except, of course, when he went into the washroom, because even though the newsies were sometimes a bit ...slow to pick up on things, they'd probably notice if two exceptionally beautiful girls walked into their midst while they were all half naked.  
  
So, as he finally got himself together and set off across the famed bridge, Mary and Sue fell out of some boxes in an alley. Sue stood first, though it was hard to see this, since she was all in black. He blonde hair was up on top of her head in a black hat, she had on black leather pants, and a black t-shirt covered by a black coat. Her nondescript black boot completed the outfit.  
  
Mary, on the other hand, would have been more at home in the jungle. She was decked out in complete army fatigues, only missing the helmet and pack. Brushing themselves off, the followed, stepping out of the alley.  
  
"You know..." began Mary. "I bet these outfits would blend in a lot better if the sun was down." Sue looked at her and shrugged.  
  
"Forget it. We have to go make sure Spot gets saved." They set off behind Race, oddly not catching and odd looks from passer-bys.  
  
!#@$$&^&$  
  
  
Race reached the Brooklyn Lodging House somewhere around dinner. Most of the newsies were gone, but Race could see that Spot remained, surrounded bya bout eight other Brooklynites. They were deeply involved in some sort of card game, so they hadn't noticed him yet.  
  
He started to walk down to the docks when he realized he had no clue what to say to them. He back-peddled around the corner, to where Spot and his boys couldn't see him, and he ran into something solid. Two somethings, to be specific. Two somethings that squealed. Mary and Sue.  
  
Race chose not to comment on their clothes. "Kinda glad you'se two is here. I got a problem. I dunno how ta tell the boys. They's been on decent terms with the West Side since the strike." He toed an old paper on the ground, letting loose a mass of angry bugs. Sue stepped back, but Mary was oblivious.  
  
"I think I have an idea...but you aren't going to like it at all." She turned to Sue, and whispered something. Sue's eyes lit up, and she smiled evilly.  
  
"That's crazy. So crazy it just might work!" (A/N~ that line came from Master of Disguise. See? I'm not trying to infring anything.LOL) Race took a step back, but both girls reached out and grabbed his shoulders, pulling him deeper into the alley, where it was too dark for the average person to see. Since Mary and Sue were perfect, however, they could see perfectly.  
  
!@#%^%*  
  
Spot threw down his hand and leaned back. Looking over to see if his boys were coming back yet, he saw a stray cat walk across the entrance to a nearby alley. There was a crash from in there, and the cat froze. It peered in, then bolted. A few seconds later, an unidentified animal rushed out in blind panic, and jumped into the water. Spot supposed it was a huge rat or something, and wrinkled his nose. He was about to turn back, but he heard a sharp cry from the same alley. He recognized the voice, but couldn't quite place it. It wasn't one of his own boys, but...there was something about it that made him look twice.  
  
@!$$#%^  
  
  
The girls stepped back and surveyed their damage. Mary had decided it was enough when Race cried out, but Sue kept on for a few more moments. Now the poor boy looked sufficiently soaked, and they were drilling him on what he was going to say. "I'se got it, okay? I'm gonna tell Spot that I'se coming to see im, and Igot picked up by the West Side boys, who thought I was from Brooklyn..."  
  
  
!@%%^&  
  
  
Spot stood as someone stumbled out of the same darn alley, and damn near knocked the table over when he realized that it was one of his best friends. "Race? Jesus, Race, what happened?"  
  
"Spot? It was the West Side boys...they thought I was from here...they said to tell ya's...tell ya's...they's gonna kill ya's..." Race knew he was rambling,but decided it just added effect. Then he decided that enough was enough, and made a bit of a show about wanting to sit down. Of course, Spot helped him out with this, and soon he was being offered water and bread, which was a feast after his selling had been. He ate most of it, and then Spot wanted more information. He provided as much as he could, but couldn't tell them everything, of course. Spot thought he got all the information, and turned to one of his boys. "Bowler...run to the carts and get the others." A tall boy in a bowler hat turned and raced off, a grim look on his face.  
  
Spot turned back to Race. "We'll get them for this. Jst you wait."  
  
  
  
  
  
  
!@##%#$^%^&*)*(*&^%$#@!#$%^&*()&^%$#@!#$%^&*()&^%$#@!#$%&*)(*&^%$#$@!#$%^&*  
  
  
  
  
  
Well? What do you think? Read? Review!!!  
  
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	4. Note From the One WHo Was Supposed To Wr...

Note From Author: All right, I know I have been a whole bastard about this updating thing, but I swear to God that I haven't forgotten. During the summer I completed about half of Chapter four, then rewrote it b/c I thought it was shit. I rewrote it an am nearly done, but I haven't had any time whatsoever with a capital W because when school started I was bombarded with truckloads of work in my AP classes and all my activities but I swear that I should have the next chapter up by this weekend, if not you can all beat me with a stick. So, my sincere apologies.I haven't forgotten!  
  
Butterfly 


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